UP IN CENTRAL PARK / ARMS AND THE GIRL [Decca Broadway B0000554]
Dorothy Fields (1905-1974) is generally acclaimed as Broadway's first woman lyricist, or at least Broadway's first important woman lyricist. She was neither, as it happens, although one might safely name her among the best.

When Fields came along in her early twenties in the late twenties, two of Broadway's most successful lyricist-librettists were women. Anne Caldwell (1876-1936) wrote book and lyrics for two dozen musicals, including seven by Jerome Kern (preceded by a collaboration with Ivan Caryll). Dorothy Donnelly (1880-1928) had even more success, although her career was truncated. After 20 years on Broadway as an actor and playwright, she had her first lyricist-librettist job in 1923. The show was the W.C. Fields vehicle Poppy, which Donnelly also directed. She is credited with the song hit "Alibi Baby," although Howard Dietz claimed that he wrote the lyric and Fields's dialogue (without credit or payment). Donnelly quickly followed this in 1924 with two of the biggest operetta hits of the century, Blossom Time and The Student Prince.

So Dorothy Fields, who arrived on Broadway with the revue Blackbirds of 1928, was not the first woman to achieve prominence in the musical theatre. She was one of the most durable writers, however, female or male; her Broadway career spanned more than four decades. She wrote lyrics for a dozen musicals, all told; two of them are especially impressive, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and Sweet Charity. (Only three of her shows as lyricist turned profits, of the moderate sort; this compares to six hits — including one blockbuster — as librettist.) Fields's best work, arguably, came during a brief Hollywood collaboration with Jerome Kern. This started in 1934 with the Oscar-winner "Lovely to Look At," and continued with the sterling songs for the 1936 film "Swing Time." (This score is expected later this season in Never Gonna Dance, and might well prove to be the most flavorful songs Broadway's heard in ages.) Fields wrote a handful of other fine songs along the way, for Broadway revues ("I Can't Give You Anything But Love") and Hollywood films ("I'm in the Mood for Love").

Decca Broadway has continued its series of reissues with lyricist Fields's two musicals of the forties. Neither Up in Central Park nor Arms and the Girl — written in 1949, although it opened one month into 1950 — are particularly memorable. Even so, don't let that stop you from getting the disc (which we are told is available only from www.iclassics.com). Arms and the Girl, especially, offers a couple of compelling reasons to listen, namely Nanette Fabray (with ineffective material) and Pearl Bailey (who makes the most of her two somewhat better songs).

The one touch of life comes in a comedy number, "The Fireman's Bride." Celeste Holm, who had recorded Oklahoma! and Bloomer Girl for Decca, made a guest appearance for this track. Concert singer Eileen Farrell came in to do the heavy singing, on four of the eight songs. Wilbur Evans and Betty Bruce of the original cast are heard, accompanied by what seems to be the Broadway chorus. Max Meth, the Lehman Engel of his time, conducts. (The liner notes confess that Decca is unsure whether these are Don Walker's original orchestrations. I would guess that they are, indeed.)

Arms and the Girl is livelier and makes for more interesting listening, although it is ultimately disappointing. Composer Morton Gould came to Broadway, specifically, to fill Leonard Bernstein's shoes. The lyricist-librettist, director, choreographer and producers of On the Town (1943) drafted Gould to compose their follow-up, Billion Dollar Baby (1945). The latter proved to be one of those almost-but not-quite efforts, with Gould, Comden and Green turning in a fascinatingly modernistic score by Broadway standards. (This can be heard on the recording of BT McNicholl's 1998 revival at the York Theatre [Original Cast OC-4304]). Arms and the Girl, Gould's only other Broadway musical, is closer in style — alas — to Up in Central Park. "You kissed me, you kissed me," the hero sings; elsewhere he pines away for "a cow and a plough and a frau." This song demonstrates that it is inadvisable to repeat one triple rhyme four times within one refrain, especially if you are determined to use a triple rhyme like "cow and plough and frau."

Fabray, who for a brief period was poised to be the next Mary Martin, offers an energetic performance despite the sub-par songs she is handed. This is a spirited, friendly musical comedy heroine, even so. One more flop — her third in a row — and Nanette was off to Hollywood (to "The Bandwagon"). Thankfully, there are two sturdy comedy numbers for Bailey, "Nothin' for Nothin'" and "There Must Be Somethin' Better than Love." These feature the sardonic writing of Fields, which was to happily resurface years later in Sweet Charity and Seesaw. The orchestrations help make the music sound far better than the melodies. Frederick Dvonch conducts.

Arms and the Girl was something of a vanity production. The Theatre Guild had immense success with its Americana musical, Oklahoma! The Guild's Lawrence Langner and Armina Marshall (Langner) were clearly looking for a similar success when they asked Rouben Mamoulian — director of the Guild's Porgy and Bess, Oklahoma! and Carousel — to tackle this musicalization of The Pursuit of Happiness. This wholly unremarkable Revolutionary War comedy, from 1933, was written by Alan Child and Isabelle Loudon (A.K.A. Lawrence Langner and Armina Marshall). But Arms and the Girl had no spark. It lasted a mere sixteen weeks, with the three stars — Fabray, Georges Guetary, and Bailey — decamping along the way.

SWEET CHARITY [Decca Broadway B0000864]
The age-old tradition of sending moderately successful Broadway hits to Hollywood ran aground with the transposition of Fields's penultimate musical, Sweet Charity. Not that anyone ever considered Charity a Dorothy Fields musical; this was a Bob Fosse musical, all the way. A Gwen Verdon musical might be more to the point.

It was Fosse who came up with the idea of transplanting Fellini's "Nights of Cabiria" to Times Square, turning the Italian streetwalker into a dance hall hostess. Fosse pulled his collaborators from earlier projects. Cy Coleman had provided the nifty score for Little Me, Fosse's prior musical (which he choreographed and co-directed). Little Me also had one of Broadway's more astounding sets of comedy lyrics, from a nimble rhymester who was perfect for the Charity project. But the inordinately talented Carolyn Leigh had been trouble; at one point during the Philadelphia tryout she literally pulled a street cop into the Erlanger, insisting that he arrest her collaborators for changing her lyrics.

If Coleman's collaborator Leigh was out of the question, Fosse had another suitable candidate. Fields had written the lyrics (and collaborated on the libretto) for Redhead, the 1959 Gwen Verdon musical with which Fosse made his directing bow. Redhead wasn't especially good, but the competition was weaker, enabling it to pull in nine Tony Awards (including medallions for Verdon, Fields and Fosse).

Librettist Fosse axed himself during rehearsals, reasoning that Neil Simon (of Little Me) would bring the material a needed lift and jokes, too. (Bert Lewis, the author whose name appears on the early ads, was Robert Louis Fosse.) Coleman and Fields gave Charity a pert, suitably abrasive score; Simon matched the tone, as did orchestrator Ralph Burns and set designer Robert Randolph. Sitting atop the heap, though, was Verdon. Charity, while termed a dance hall hostess, is drawn on the seamy side. Verdon's remarkable stage persona made the character believable but, at the same time, lovably innocent.

Charity, which came to Broadway as a surefire blockbuster, did not do as well as expected; she was immediately preceded by Don Quixote with his "Impossible Dream," and quickly followed by Mame Lansbury coaxing the blues right out of the horn. Hollywood prospects were negligible, until Shirley MacLaine decided she wanted to do it. (MacLaine swept to Hollywood in 1954 when, as a chorus girl understudy, she filled Carol Haney's shoes doing Fosse's "Steam Heat" in The Pajama Game.)

Sweet Charity without Gwen Verdon? Heresy, yes. But it was a practical choice; either MacLaine as Charity, or no movie. Since MacLaine and her producers were willing to give Fosse a shot at directing, he and his wife (Verdon) were in no position to turn it down. But the film proved to be a big headache and a big-budget fiasco. Decca Broadway has pulled the soundtrack album from the archives, which serves to illustrate some of the problems.

The original Broadway cast album of Sweet Charity — which was spiffed up and remastered in 1999 [Sony Classical SK 60960] — remains a favorite. If the soundtrack can't begin to compare, the first problem is not the star. It's the material. Hollywood saw fit to remove six of the thirteen songs, offering three inferior replacements. There goes the heart and spirit of the show.

Listening to the album again after all these years, I'm slightly surprised to find that MacLaine is, in fact, pretty good. No, she's not Gwen Verdon, and there's no reason that she should be. But she sings well, and plays the role (on the album) well. If the results don't begin to compare with Gwen, let's consider that Charity's two introductory numbers — which perfectly fit the character, thanks to Fields — were both omitted.

The film cast includes a few people that might well be of interest to Broadway fans. John McMartin re-creates his stage performance, but his first (of two) stage song was cut, while his big solo — the title song — was undercut. (Coleman wrote a new, and ineffective, tune to Fields's original lyric. I wouldn't blame Cy; I suppose someone forced him to do it.) Chita Rivera is on hand (in place of the invaluable Helen Gallagher), but her character's best spot — the ingratiating "Baby, Dream Your Dream" -- is similarly missing in action. Ricardo Montalban came in to play the movie star who picks up Charity, but his song is missing. Sammy Davis — billed here with the "Jr." he had officially dropped several years earlier — plays the one-song role of Big Daddy, but by 1969 he was a travesty of himself. That leaves little for us to hang on to, other than Stubby Kaye leading "I Love to Cry at Weddings."

Oh, yes. "Big Spender" is presented in more or less unaltered form, and remains equally effective. And let me add in defense of Ms. Fields that I would wager to guess that she's not the one who inserted "sock it to me" into "The Rhythm of Life."  Continued...